


Hotel Night Vale

by daftalchemist



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Apache!Cecil, Cecil is Human, Hotel California crossover, M/M, Songfic, genderfluid!Cecil, technically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:47:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2117373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daftalchemist/pseuds/daftalchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a dark desert highway, cool wind in his hair, Carlos notices a shimmering light in the distance and decides to stop for the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hotel Night Vale

**Author's Note:**

> Technically a songfic, but really just a crossover with the absolutely amazing Eagles song "[Hotel California](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h0G1Ucw5HDg)". The link to the song provides the lyrics as well in case anyone is interested in spotting them within the story.
> 
> Beta thanks to the wonderful as ever f1rstperson, who has made a pact with me to encourage each other to each write the crossover fics we've each been meaning to write.

The road stretched out before him straight and long, the only discernable landmark in vast desert wastes. Ahead were mountains that never seemed to get any closer, and behind those the endless stretch of sky on fire with the setting sun, saturating it with the smoke of night. He’d been at this for what seemed like hours, driving seemingly forever, never seeing the needle on the gas gauge drop below the halfway mark and never caring to wonder why that was happening. The air was thick with the oppressive heat only the desert could bring, blowing through his hair, filling his lungs with dust, his eyes with sand. There was a familiar smell on the wind, something warm and comforting, putting his mind at ease, relaxing his muscles further into the leather seat. Not the best choice of material for wandering an endless desert hellscape, but the sleek lines and cherry red sheen of a convertible ‘66 Mustang more than made up for it. It pulled to the right like a boat with one paddle and the radio had long since stopped giving him anything but whispers in static, but the top was down, the breeze was growing cooler with the onset of night, and there was nowhere else he wanted to be.

Day gave way into night, sun falling into the darkness of the starry void, one brighter than the rest, just on the horizon. It called to him, shimmering lazily, as though it had all of the time of eternity to shine on, instead of likely already being dead; an eyeless gaze pouring itself out into the universe. That ease he’d been feeling in his head turned to something more like a weight, dragging his thoughts down into that thick void, his chin towards his chest. It was night, but had it always been so dark? He switched on his headlights, bathing the ground in dirty, white light, but could hardly find the road through the fog clouding his eyes; a fog that only seemed to exist behind his eyelids. The car drifted, and so did he, before swerving back into place to narrowly avoid hitting absolutely nothing. It occurred to him he couldn’t remember how long he’d been driving, and that it might have been days.

There was an odd sound, like a buzzing or a hum, low and quiet but steadily growing, and a moment later he realized the radio wasn’t hissing static at him anymore. It was something else now; something with a slow beat, that low hum, a lilting piano. He turned the knob, but the sounds didn’t stop, the music didn’t stop. The headlights, however grew dimmer and dimmer until they weren’t even lighting the way anymore. There was no longer a way to go. He had arrived.

There was a large building, featureless in the dark, or perhaps without feature even in the light. He knew he hadn’t seen it on the horizon, that sunburned line he’d been staring at for some unknowable amount of time, but there it was, front light flickering as softly as a moth dancing around a flame. And in the doorway, basked in that fragile light, was a true beauty; long, jet hair blowing softly over tan skin and round cheeks, and a dress as thin and pale as a ghost catching around his ankles. The beauty smiled, warm and welcoming, and the haunting piano drifting from the radio was briefly muffled by the sound of a mission bell; far away and begging to be heard, to be listened to. The man in the car didn’t feel much like listening.

“This could be heaven,” he thought to himself, eyes fixed on the man waiting at the door, “or this could be hell.”

The car’s engine sputtered to a stop, gas gauge suddenly reading empty, and he turned it off, no longer needing to go any farther that night. The music still played, growing steadily louder and more unnoticed. He stepped out of the car and up the few decrepit steps to the door. The beauty was still smiling at him, bathed in the dying light of an old bulb, painted lips shining brightly, invitingly.

“Hello, sir,” the beauty said with a voice as deep and rich as melted chocolate. “I’m Cecil. Who might you be?”

He swallowed thickly, dislodging dust from a throat that had fallen into disuse, releasing a voice that sounded as ancient and harsh as the desert winds. “Carlos.”

Cecil’s eyes sparkled, dark as the night sky and bright as the stars within it, and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “Were you looking to stay?”

The music was growing louder, though the radio was adamantly off.

“S-stay?” Carlos asked, though the words began to muffle and fade, falling short of his ears.

Cecil nodded, laughing as softly as the breeze touching his gentle face. “Stay here with me. With us.”

If there was still breath left in Carlos’ lungs, he couldn’t find it. It had been punched from his lungs by dark skin, a slender frame, a round face.

“I… could stay.”

Cecil clapped his hands together, smiling even wider, an odd sort of smile that didn’t seem to touch the shadowy depths in his eyes.

“Great!” he said, and a candle was in his hand, flame flickering in time with the light above the door, the light that showed no features to the building that held it.

A soft hand slid into Carlos’ palm, and they walked through a door he had neither seen open before them nor shut behind them. The corridor stretched out before them, black as the road, hot as the desert, dark as the night with only the shimmering light of a candle to guide them. The music chased him with each step, louder still, playing endlessly from a car that was out of gas. Somewhere in the darkness voices called to him. Old, ancient things emanating from throats full of dust, speaking to him with words he didn’t understand. Cecil smiled at him, face shadowed eerily in the candlelight, and the voices grew louder, calling to Carlos, drowning out the music.

“Welcome to the Hotel Night Vale,” he thought he heard them say.


End file.
